Take Care
by TMBlue
Summary: COMPLETE! With Hermione's help, Ron is slowly dealing with Fred's death, two weeks after the final battle.


**Take Care**

She was lying on her stomach, in his bed. A soft patter of rain ticked against the window, sliding off the roof. She wished he would hurry. She missed his comfort, warmth, the way his arms would hold her, clenching muscles as if she could ever go away.

It had been a week since Fred's funeral. She'd held Ron's hand more often than not since they'd come back from the war. And his eyes were permanently red-rimmed, even when he'd smile at her.

She loved him so much. She irrationally wanted to find a way to prove it to him that went beyond physically touching, being there... even saying the words she hadn't said yet. It was as if the moment he'd kissed her back, in the Room of Requirement, her heart had burst, allowing her to feel with more than full capacity, something she'd had to manage so carefully before.

Lonely, she climbed out of his bed. Everyone was asleep, the Burrow so quiet. She knew where he was - he'd told her he was going downstairs to take a shower - but it felt too long ago now.

She could hear the water rushing as she approached the second landing, and it occurred to her that she didn't have a plan. Though she suspected he wouldn't really mind much, she couldn't exactly barge in on him without good reason.

She moved closer and noticed the steam from the loo seeping out from between the door and the frame. He'd left the door open, a small crack. It seemed odd that he'd do such a thing, in a house full of people, and she licked her lips, moving closer.

Lantern light from inside flickered briefly. She was close enough now that she could call to him, make sure he was alright. Her lips parted, taking in a breath to speak-

And then she heard it.

Sobbing.

The sound of it ripped through her as if she was being tortured, all over again.

She gasped and pushed open the door before she thought about what she was doing. The shower curtain was pulled halfway shut. His discarded clothes were wet and crumpled, littering the floor around the tub, as if he had first gotten in the shower fully dressed, removing layers as an afterthought. Her theory was proven as she caught sight of him around the edge of the curtain. He was sitting in the tub, shower water cascading over his pale skin, his head bent between his knees. He was still wearing his boxers, wet and clinging to his thighs.

"Ron?" she tried, forehead creased with concern.

He flinched, startled, before running a hand over his face and tilting his head a few inches up, allowing him to likely see her feet, but not enough for her to see his face. She watched him shake, then, in a way that seemed uncontrollable.

Without another word, she pushed her back against the door, closing it with a soft click. She pulled off her pyjama bottoms, kicking them free.

"Ermynee," he choked out.

"I'm here," she whispered, walking toward him in only her knickers and thin, white vest.

She knelt in front of the tub first, needing to be sure he wanted her here, before she went any further. Her chest was clenched tight, unable to put into words what she felt, how much she grieved for his pain. She watched his neck muscles move as he swallowed, and then his hand was wrapping round her forearm, warm water trickling across his knuckles and around the curve of her arm, to drip softly to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he trembled, head still lowered.

She hitched a breath and sighed it out, her own eyes filling with tears.

"Why should you be sorry?" she whispered, and he shuddered again, back rippling as he shivered, even in the overwhelming warmth of the steam and hot water.

"Dddunnno," he breathed, between quiet sobs. "Scaring you."

She shook her head and tried to get closer. But the barrier of porcelain wasn't acceptable.

"I'm coming in," she said softly, and she thought she saw him nod before his hand slipped off her arm as she stood.

As she stepped in, water soaking immediately through her vest, and she had to force herself not to look down, to keep herself from knowing exactly how see-through the material was now. He was awkwardly squished inside the tub, his long legs tucked up to his chest, and it took her a moment to figure out where to sit. She faced his right profile, swallowing as she extended her right leg forward to rest flat, under the arch created by his bent knees.

Without a word, she rested her cheek on his right knee, water plastering her hair to the side of her face as she looked at him, willing him to lift his eyes to look back, at her.

At last, he did, his right hand moving up her back, palm flat against her, between her shoulder blades. His swollen, red eyes found hers, and it was impossible for her to tell what, of the moisture coating his face, was from his tears, as opposed to the shower spray. Without conscious thought, she slid the fingers of her left hand gently down his right thigh, stopping when she encountering the soaked cotton of his boxers. But she couldn't possibly bring herself to feel embarrassed. Not now.

There was the tiniest twitch, at the left corner of his mouth, as he tried to smile at her.

This was new, this little clothing, this much skin. But all of that didn't seem so important just now. His hand smoothed down her back, lifting up to her shoulders again and repeating. Something about the movement seemed soothing to him. She lifted her own hand from his thigh, placing it instead against the side of his face. And he let go of her back at once, pressing his right hand over her left, squeezing her fingers to his face as he closed his eyes. She heard him swear breathlessly, barely audible.

She didn't need to ask him what was wrong. It had been less than two weeks since he'd lost his brother. She had wondered when he might break down again. She had found it oddly frightening, the way he had seemed to lack all emotion, other than the ones tied to her. Had he been numb? Or had he simply been hiding it from her, not wanting her to see him this way? She had spent so much time by his side that she found it hard to believe he could escape long enough to be in this much pain without her knowing.

She wrapped her right arm around his legs, and he really did smile then, eyes still closed. She felt her stomach flip at the sight, his bare skin pink from the heat of the water, his eyes two dark depressions in his beautiful face, several days of stubble peppering his chin, jaw... dotting a line between his nose and upper lip. She turned her head and kissed his knee, closing her own eyes as water cascaded down the side of her face. She felt him move her hand from his cheek, kissing her fingers one at a time. She shivered from the delightful feeling, heart pounding. And when she looked back up at him again, he was staring, holding her hand against his chest.

"Ssso ffucking lucky," he said, shaking his head. "S'not fair."

She shook her own head, speechless.

He began to shiver again, squinting, and she released him only long enough to slide her leg out from under his and push up to her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face to the side of his head as he clutched her back through the thin cotton of her vest. There was nothing she could say, but she sensed that being here was enough, that she was helping him.

A long moment passed, as they silently held on to each other. She ran her fingers through his hair as his breathing steadied. His hand had absently wandered up the back of her vest, now gently pressed to her bare skin.

The water was getting cooler, and Hermione lifted her head to glance at the taps.

"Wand," Ron said scratchily, nodding toward the edge of the tub.

Hermione twisted away from him, reaching out to find his jeans, searching the pockets until she found his wand. She aimed for the taps and swished, nonverbally warming the water again before dropping his wand to his pile of discarded clothing and turning back to face him. He was staring, eyes glazed and tired, but there was something like pride in his gaze. She felt the intimacy of being so close, using his wand so casually... And she knew he must be feeling it, too.

"Have you washed?" she asked softly. He shook his head.

"Reckon I forgot."

"Can't have that," she said, and she reached for the soap on the edge of the tub. He watched her, turning his head in what appeared to be slow motion as she rubbed the bar of soap between her palms. "Close your eyes," she whispered, and she felt a flutter of furious butterflies at the way he did what she instructed, immediately, without asking why.

She raised her right hand to his face, very delicately smoothing the soap along his cheek, feeling him sigh as he leaned his head back against the tile wall behind him, letting her do whatever she wished. Her left hand joined her right, and she gently lathered soap from his forehead to his chin, working her fingers behind his ears, smiling as he wrinkled his nose adorably when she accidentally tickled him from her feather light touch.

Finished with his face, she opened her hands to the rushing spray from the shower, rinsing them and filling her cupped palms with clear water, releasing the water over the top of his head. He scrunched his closed eyes more tightly and pressed his lips together as the water sluiced down, rinsing his face. And she grinned, cupping her hands under the shower for another go.

Thoroughly rinsed, she wiped his eyes with the tips of her fingers and leaned forward, kissing the end of his nose. He cracked open his eyes then, gazing sleepily back at her.

"Hair next," she whispered, and he smiled brilliantly, dazed from crying and the heat from the water. And her.

She reached for the bottle of shampoo, and he leaned back again, eyes falling shut as she squeezed a dollop of the shampoo into the palm of her hand. Clearing her throat, she tucked her legs underneath her and pushed up onto her knees, still facing him, reaching for the top of his head. Massaging gently, she worked from the front, his neck bending forward the further back she went, until she wondered if he'd actually fallen asleep.

She stood then, reached over for the shower head, and turned it, aiming the spray for the top of Ron's head. Soap suds rinsed out of his hair, sliding down his freckled skin as she looked down at him. She took a small, selfish moment to admire him, her eyes running down the curves of his muscles, shoulders, the veins down the backs of his hands.

God, his hands were amazing. She knelt beside him again and held one of them between her own, thumbs smoothing over his knuckles. He lifted his head and caught her staring, but she didn't mind, shyly clasping his fingers before letting him go and reaching for the soap again.

"Turn around," she instructed, and he followed her motions until he was sitting lengthwise, back toward her. She slid up behind him and lathered soap between her hands, smoothing symmetrical patterns lazily down the curve of his back, inhaling pleasant steam as she worked. The water was aimed perfectly now, rinsing as she washed, and she was finished moments later, brushing soapy hands down his biceps from the back. "Alright, now the front..."

She was contemplating a plan for how to change positions when he stood, towering over her as water gushed off of him, boxers plastered to his legs. Seeing him like this, it hit her just how naked he was, more than it had before. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. He turned, swept his hair out of his eyes, and sat again, facing her.

For a few moments, she couldn't breathe, lips slightly parted.

She'd seen him in only his underwear before, changing clothes quickly with her in the room... but never like this. Never so close for so long.

"Alright?" he asked, his voice rough and raw as he studied her, eyes still impossibly puffy from crying.

"Yeah," she replied, voice just as rough, to her surprise.

She shifted to sit cross-legged, tugging his ankles until he extended his legs on either side of her. Smiling briefly up at him, she lathered soap between her hands again and took his right arm. The scars on his forearms stood out even more than usual as his skin burned from the hot water, and she took her time to study them, tenderly running a finger along them one at a time. His eyes fluttered shut, gooseflesh breaking out where she was touching him, and she felt her stomach jump knowing how much she was affecting him.

It seemed that he wasn't concerned with anything, anymore, when he was with her... no longer timid and shy as he had been at first, and before she'd kissed him, before he knew. The ease she felt in knowing this filled her body with a sense of peace that she hadn't known possible, as if it was now nearly more comfortable to be with him than it had ever been to be alone.

She finally finished his arms and slid her hands down his thighs, removing part of her mind from what she was doing so she couldn't get too distracted... She reached back past his knees, scooting away from him until she could reach his right foot, scrubbing it back and forth between her hands. He twitched, and she smiled up at him as he opened his eyes.

"Ticklish?" she whispered, knowing the answer anyway.

"Mm, careful," he advised, half-heartedly lifting an eyebrow as she ran a finger dangerously down his sole. He wiggled his toes, and she stopped, taking a final moment to enjoy the shapes of his foot and calf, bony ankles and long toes, soft ginger hairs stuck down to wet, milky skin.

She moved to his other leg, slowly studying every inch of him, mesmerised by the way the soap bubbles molded to him briefly, as they were washed away.

Finally finished, she looked up and met his eyes again. Some of the red had faded, leaving glistening blue, surrounded by bloodshot whites. His wet lashes clumped together, and his cheeks were flushed from the heat. And he was hers. And she was his. And they were alive.

"Done," she whispered, hands still resting lightly atop both of his legs.

He sucked in a deep breath of steam through his mouth and smiled at her, reclaiming his legs as she stood. She felt only a bit self conscious as he looked up at her, realising that she might as well be wearing nothing now, soaked through completely in white.

She reached out for a towel, and he stood in front of her, shutting off the water and squeezing a hand through his hair to partially dry it. She finished the job by reaching up, standing on her toes, to cover his head with the towel, rubbing vigorously as he laughed, face hidden in terrycloth.

The sound of his laughter melted through her, a brilliant contrast to the aching sobs she had heard when she'd found him. And when she slipped the towel down from his head to his chest, he grinned down at her, his eyes even creasing with his smile. She swallowed and reminded herself to breathe, overwhelmed.

"Really glad you found me," he said, sincerely, voice a bit deeper and scratchier than usual.

She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. When she pulled back again, she wiped at her eyes and reached for a second towel, stepping out of the tub and drying herself off as good as she could without stripping completely naked...

Ron dried quickly and scooped up his discarded clothing as Hermione retrieved her pyjamas.

"Got dry clothes in my room?" he asked, gripping his wand.

"Maybe. Or... I could wear one of your shirts?"

"Course," he nodded, eyes a bit glazed. "Better apparate in case anybody's up roaming around the house."

"Right." She clutched his arm and he closed his eyes, disapparating with her.

They arrived in the middle of his room, discovering it had gone quite dark in their absence, the lantern on his bedside table nearly burned out completely. He crossed to the door to close and lock it, dropping his clothes and towel into a bin beside his dresser. He reached inside the top drawer, retrieving dry boxers and a faded t-shirt as Hermione searched his trunk for any of her things. Finding nothing but a pair of jeans, she shrugged and he handed her the shirt, his cheeks quite pink again.

She let her own towel fall to the floor, and he turned his back on her, moving to the far corner of the room. They had done this before, and it made her dizzy, every time. She turned her back to him as well, stripping off her wet vest and knickers, trying hard not to hear the sounds of him changing behind her.

"Done?" he asked, voice oddly shaky.

She pulled his shirt on quickly over her head and smoothed her hair away from her face. Checking the length of the shirt, she decided it was good enough, stretching easily to her upper thighs.

"Yeah."

They turned to face each other, and she was happy to find that he hadn't bothered with a shirt himself.

He took several steps closer, looking quite dazed, eyes drooping heavily with exhaustion.

"You're amazing," he sighed, staring openly down at her.

She laughed lightly through her nose and shook her head.

"Haven't done anything, really..."

He gawked at her, and released a heavy exhale.

"You've no idea."

She smiled shyly then, chewing her lip.

"Do you need anything?" she asked, softly. "I'll bet you've got a headache. I could make you some tea."

"No," he swallowed. "Just bed. And you."

Her throat constricted with crushing emotion, wanting more than anything in the world to be the way he saw her. He'd said he was lucky? She felt that it couldn't be more reversed, reaching for his wrist as she sucked little breaths between her parted lips, willing herself not to cry. She had never been so happy, but she had also never felt so much empathy for another person, and it was difficult to hold back. But then she knew that she didn't need to hold back a thing. He'd never asked her to. In fact, if he felt anything like what she did, it made him impossibly happy when she showed him everything.

She led him to his bed, turning down the freshly washed sheets, and he slid in next to her, taking her hand as she tangled their legs together, lying on their sides to face each other.

"Do you need to talk?" she whispered, gazing into his softly glowing eyes.

"No," he whispered back. "Nothing to say, really. He's gone. I know he's gone. Just... not quite used to it yet."

She nodded slightly against his pillow, and he scooted closer, draping an arm over her waist. She could feel the warmth of his bare chest radiating toward her, and her heartbeat throbbed inside her ears. He sniffed and slid his shaggy head further across the pillow, damp hair sticking up at funny angles as he moved his hand up from her back to her cheek, closing his eyes and kissing her, the sides of their noses smooshed together. When they separated, she felt lightheaded, as she often still did when he'd kiss her. But it was different this time, not just new and exciting, but comforting, too... the gentleness of his soft lips on hers, his shower warmed skin against hers.

"Thank you," he said, softly, gathering her closer.

She rolled onto her back and dragged him to her shoulder, closing her eyes as he nuzzled his face into her neck, his bare leg overlapping hers. She clung to him, and he kissed her neck, sliding his lips down before moving his trembling fingers up her side, having somehow managed to skim underneath the shirt she was wearing. And as she breathed in the fresh scent of his hair, it occurred to her that she wasn't wearing knickers, swallowing her anxiety at him seeing her naked.

But it didn't matter so much now. They had seen so much more of each other already. And though the physical barriers they had yet to break would be new, it wasn't so hard to imagine now, that she wouldn't be so nervous after all to share that with him, too.

He obviously noticed what he had done, after he'd done it, and pulled his hand back, sharply.

"Shit, sorry."

"No," she breathed, "it's okay."

He lifted his head to meet her eyes, so close that their noses were almost touching. And it occurred to her how humorous it really was that they had shared a bath in their underwear, and yet he was still concerned she might not want him to touch her so intimately…

She reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes, watching happily as he relaxed again. Pausing after a moment, he reached down and pulled up the sheet, covering them both before tentatively feathering his fingers up inside her shirt again, resting lightly against her ribs, breathing deeply.

 _Those_ words came to mind, simple and easy now. And she rolled them over several times, working up to saying them. But as she repeated the short phrase inside her head, her eyes drifted shut to the sound of his peaceful breathing, against her neck. And she was lulled by an indescribably perfect feeling that replaced her ability to speak.


End file.
